


In Which Alex and Aaron are Running Out of Time

by DoctorTrekLock



Series: AU-gust 2020 [6]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Chronic Illness, Gen, Modern AU, Terminal Illness, hospital au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:00:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25790992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorTrekLock/pseuds/DoctorTrekLock
Summary: Aaron sat down heavily in his own chair, too tired to try and keep his posture perfect. He idly watched the other man scribbling, barely pausing between thoughts.He didn’t mean to say anything, but before he could help himself he said, “Why do you write–-” He bit off the rest.Like you’re running out of timedidn’t need to be added. Not in this wing of the hospital.
Relationships: Aaron Burr & Alexander Hamilton
Series: AU-gust 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1870924
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	In Which Alex and Aaron are Running Out of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted August 6, 2020 on [Tumblr](https://doctortreklock.tumblr.com/post/625745479212367872/au-gust-6-hospital-au)

The first time Aaron met Alexander Hamilton, it was in the patients’ lounge.

He’d just finished his latest treatment and was waiting for his grandfather to pick him up. He was a busy man, but he’d assured Aaron he would be by. Sometime.

When Aaron walked in, there was a young man about his age curled into an armchair in the corner of the lounge, wearing sweatpants and an oversized, threadbare sweater that bunched up around his wrists. He had a composition notebook and a cheap Bic pen, and he was writing furiously.

Aaron sat down heavily in his own chair, too tired to try and keep his posture perfect. He idly watched the other man scribbling, barely pausing between thoughts.

He didn’t mean to say anything, but before he could help himself he said, “Why do you write–-” He bit off the rest. _Like you’re running out of time_ didn’t need to be added. Not in this wing of the hospital.

The man stopped. His hand stuttered to a stop, but he didn’t look up. After a moment, he said, “I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory.” He looked up then and met Aaron’s eyes.

He wasn’t white, but his skin was pale, likely from whatever treatment was being used to fight the disease that had landed him here. His eyes were brown, and Aaron could easily imagine them warm and animated. At the moment, they were weary and heavy with the resignation that never really went away.

Aaron knew he looked the same. “Death doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints,” he offered grimly, relaxing further back into his chair and tilting his head back to look at the water-stained drop ceiling.

He heard a rustle of movement and tipped his head to see the man getting up and shuffling over to the chair next to Aaron, his pen tucked inside his notebook. Once he’d curled himself catlike into his chair, he reached out a hand to Aaron. “Alexander Hamilton.”

Aaron took it. “Aaron Burr.”

Alexander nodded decisively. “Nice to meet you. Now–-” He cracked open the composition notebook again. “-–Let’s see if you have anything to add.”

“Add?” Aaron turned in his chair so he could see the notebook better. On the first page, someone had written _Dying is easy, living is harder_ in large, clear lettering. He snorted gently when he saw it.

“I know, right?” Alexander admitted easily. “It was something my foster dad told me when I was diagnosed.”

“You’re an orphan?” The question fell off his tongue before he could stop it. He winced and added “I’m an orphan” before Alexander could react.

Alexander shifted closer until his shoulder brushed Aaron’s. “Got to stick together then, right?”

“Right,” Aaron agreed, trying to pull the conversation off his _faux pas_. “What’s in the notebook?”

Alexander flipped to the next page, and Aaron could see it was the beginning of a numbered list. With the number of pages he’d already filled, Aaron could easily imagine hundreds of items scribbled in Alexander’s messy scrawl.

“It’s a list of reminders,” Alexander explained, his voice soft. “Reasons why living’s worth it even when it’s harder.”

Aaron moved closer until his shoulder was pressed tight to Alexander’s. “Read me some?” he asked.

“Number one,” Alexander narrated warmly, “Chocolate ice cream.”


End file.
